Origin of Squadron
by Squadron
Summary: A group of slave traders believed to be connected with the obscure villain Legion interrupt the placid vacation of 2 normal people. Witness the adventure undertaken in the creation of Squadron. But will he rise in victory, or will they turn him into something else? It's an actual story with a plot for a change; rate freely.


This is my first story. It's about my original DC character, Squadron. Criticize freely; I know I'm not a professional.

A man stared down the shaft of an arrow pointed at his face. The archer staring back at his neutral expression turned back to his superior, an elephantine yellow warrior who appeared to have armor of stone. None of the Carthaginian soldiers could even damage him, save the elephant warriors. The giant gave an order in an unknown language to the archer, the last human, Roman soldier on the battlefield. Upon turning back to the nameless warrior, he uttered

"_Verba ultima habesne_" which the warrior would never learn would mean "Do you have last words?". But, not an unintelligent man, he understood, rose, and offered the archer in front of him, who backed up, a small painting he took out of his pack. The archer took it, slackened the draw tension on his bow, and examined it. The towering warrior of stone was confused. Last words don't usually go like this. The Roman looked up at the other man, and noticed it was a picture of him with his arm around a girl with no indication she was married. They had happy expressions on their faces. The Roman gave the man the picture again, and pretended to wipe the sweat from his face. The Carthaginian man was doing a worse job of hiding his emotions. His noble face had gone from that of a man dying with honor to one with tears streaming down it. All sense of a dignified death was gone. The two men had almost forgotten about the giant behind them.

"_Eum Neca!"_ ordered he. The archer turned, fired at the monster's eye, and drew another arrow for the second one. He had seen what the beast had done to the opposing side, and he knew he had no chance at killing it outright. But perhaps, if he blinded it, they could run away and it would starve. The Carthaginian took out his knife and threw it at the towering opponent's mouth. Maybe it was soft on the inside. The yellow giant simply stepped on the archer with an arrow in his eye and a knife in his mouth. Where was the Carthaginian? Oh well, he was still stranded out on the battlefield, he'd probably not survive without his unit. Humans are frail creatures. As Legion walked away, he began talking with himself as if he was really made up of multiple creatures.

"We've finished our job here. Make sure it was a Roman victory and their champion's child is never born."

"We're lucky he took to the battlefield. Witch Boy would have killed us if we had failed. Time travel spells are almost impossible and require great amounts of energy and expensive one-time-use relics.

"We were lucky to be here entirely. The only reason he chose us for the job is that even if we had shown up in history, we wouldn't be recognized because no one remembers us."

"Silence, fools, we only came here to find a Roman man enough to take our Legion Helmet and be our evil sidekick."

"I thought that archer might be a good candidate for a second…

"Yeah, so did I…

"…_the one red leaf, last of its clan,_

_That dances as often as dance it can."_

_-Samuel Taylor Coleridge _

A youth stood up to his neck in a swamp of sorts. He was approximately five and a half feet tall, or was the last time he cared to check. The pool was about thirty feet deep, which the average passerby did not know, as someone was clearly standing in it without moving was obviously taller than the pool. But the occasional on looking tourist would wonder how deep it actually was, or if it was really that shallow, why the land inflecting downwards to form the pool was doing so at such a steep angle. But, no matter how curious, all would eventually move along and forget shortly. The youth, a well-built African American, had an expression of feigned ignorant apathy, but he was laughing inside. He noticed a girl sitting on the bank. She had dark brown hair, a pale complexion, and was rather tall, yet appeared about the same age as he. She looked at him with a playful curiosity and jocularly wide eyes.

"Okay, I give up. How are you doing it?"

"There's an old saying that an elephant knows when he's going to die and splits off from the herd to die alone."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's a myth, of course, when elephants get old, they slow down and their teeth fall out. They leave their herd for pools with soft plants because they can't walk or chew."

The mystery girl looked somewhat let down about the story, but decided it was better if he told how he seems to be floating his way. She wiped sweat off her face, it was the heat of the day, after all and this is Tunisia. She motioned for him to continue.

"You're sitting next to relatively edible plants. This is what you might call an elephant graveyard."

"You're standing on a dead elephant?"

"It's a skeleton, technically. This one's been here a long time, I swam down earlier and I didn't find any teeth in or near his mouth."

"You prankster, you" she raised her voice to a comic, sarcastic tone "How long have you been here, scaring the wits out of the odd white tourist like myself?"

"I've been standing on this guy's ribcage for about three hours and ten minutes."

"You keep on saying 'he' and referring to it being a guy. I'd suggest using gender unspecific pronouns if you ever hope to get a girlfriend"

"This is of no object to me. I'm bored here; do you want to go to Carthage?"

"A date already and you still haven't learned-

The automatic male instinct kicked in. To impress any girl whether he liked or had any hope with her or not was now his sole duty. He adopted an even more suave expression than before and angled his head upward slightly showing no emotion and choosing his words like a bomb disabler he began his speech.

"My name's Syrus Townshend and I am a native to the United States. This is my homeland, but when the Ghana Empire started selling slaves, my ancestors went to America for better or worse. The elephant on which I am standing is not a cow, because of its less broadened pelvic shape. I don't care whether or not you accompany me to Carthage, but I'm going anyway, and, as the journey will take hours on foot, I expect it will go more quickly on traveling with someone. There are sights I want to see there, I've never been before, and I expect you would like to see as well."

The girl on the bank yawned and called him a walking history book in French before announcing that she would indeed be his travelling companion, as long as there were benefits. She was joking, of course, they were both about fourteen years old. Julius dropped of the skeleton and walked up the bottom of the pool. He emerged gradually and the girl on the bank correctly assumed he was accustomed to swimming _au naturel_.

"This wasn't the kind of sight I had anticipated!" said the strange girl on the bank" Do you want me to find your clothes before this gets really awkward?"

"You can get away with this kind of thing in Africa"

"American"

"Whatever. My stuff's in the tree behind you."

The strange girl scaled the tree rapidly and was discovering hidden dress clothes while Syrus stood in the pond with filthy, opaque water up to his waist, displaying his powerful build. She tossed down a belt; shoes tied together, and finally, a pair of black slacks. She then gracefully descended and threw him his pants, which he nearly fumbled, catching and made an exaggerated point to turn around, walk about 25 feet and stop. Julius grinned, now that he couldn't be seen. This girl made him feel stupid and he liked that in her. He walked out of the pool, grabbed his boxers from the tree, and, not checking whether or not the girl had turned around, and began dressing. When she decided it was safe to turn back, she had something to say.

"Awkward moment avoided like a boss"

"Says the girl who won't tell me her name"

"Marie Descartes, pleasure to meet you Syrus"

"Carthage is that way."

The remainder of the trip to his homeland was spent with the Marie, telling her about all the battles the Romans won, even on the sea, where it was unexpected. He took her to the battlegrounds, told her of Hannibal crossing the Alps with 38 elephants.

"How did he get them across rivers?"

"He sent female elephants ahead of them"

Their relationship developed to personal questions. He was on a trip to visit Tunisia and see the sights, as a reward for getting a scholarship. She was studying abroad, to have it on her college resume. One night, in a hotel room, when he was sleeping on a couch, she complained she was cold in the bed and wanted to be next to him. As they lied adjacently, Syrus was awake with unexpected thoughts. She was giving off heat. He was colder than she had been. Upon this conclusion, he decided the two of them needed a good talk in the morning. But the next morning did not arrive as he had anticipated.

Syrus awoke alone to a ruined house. He called her name multiple times, but she was not there. He ran through the house as she had the night before, there were bloodstains on the floors and walls. The furniture was ripped up and there was even a throwing knife stuck in the wall. This might come in handy later. When he wondered why he did not wake up, he found himself scratching at his arm. A tiny hole was there, upon inspection. It was all clear now. He'd been drugged as soon as they had snuck in. Syrus thought about how Marie must have wasted precious seconds to wake him, and he instinctively closed his eyes, though no one was around. He did not manage to find Marie, and he was developing a sinking feeling as to why she wasn't there. What he did find, in the kitchen, where there had clearly been a fight, was a note in perfect English.

"We have stolen your girlfriend, American. You are not kidnapped because we have no need for male slaves. Don't bother with law enforcement, we've tapped their phones and it took us four of nine people getting arrested for enough trips to the station. And, of course, we'd be more than happy to sell her back to you for an even $16,264. If you don't manage to deliver this, or if you try to fight all five of us, to the pool where we saw you talking by midnight, she'll be sold on the Mediterranean and, just for you; we'll tell her that there was never an option for you to buy her out. But be a responsible young man, and consider going for the ransom she put up quite the fight, she's relatively not dead. Have a nice day."

Syrus had never seen that much money in his life. He did not need to read the note again to detect the obvious Narcissism of its author, but he did anyway. He ran outside the hotel building after asking the receptionist for a list of the people who came in and what language they spoke. There weren't many people who spoke English in Tunisia, or at least not perfect English. The obviously frightened woman had told him about three darker black men with Italian suits and two similar women who could speak English, but all she could give him on them was a bank account for the man who paid. They weren't still residing in the hotel, though. Syrus had gratefully thanked her. Thinking on this as he ran at top speed to the bank, he decided she had been really helpful. Most people did not remember things like that, and he could really use the bank account. He smiled in spite of everything at what he imagined the cleaning lady's expression to the sight of the evidence of the fight in the room.

Upon arrival at the local bank, he made a point to ask the prettiest teller if she met people using the account. As suspected, she had. Rich guys like talking to pretty girls; that was a fact. She was able to tell him that they did indeed take out a loan and insurance policy on a boat which was currently in the local harbor. She was even able to tell him that it was an Italian model and give him a description. He thanked her as well and ran as quickly as he could. Almost at the harbor, he slowed down and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a little after nine o'clock, these people weren't professionals, he knew where to look for his girlfriend, and this probably wasn't as big as he feared. Because the kidnappers were local, they might not have his information. There probably wasn't an army on their side, nor was this international. There was a chance he could really get her back. But he had to eat first; he'd be doing a lot more running. And he needed a plan.

After a lonely lunch he scouted out the marina. Most of the ships were gone. This was perfect. He could not let them see him, or they'd get worried and kill Marie. He jumped in the water. Even if someone saw him, he wouldn't be recognizable. As he did not change before leaving the hotel, he was still wearing the tee and jeans in which he slept. He usually dressed up, but today, Marie was not present to whistle at his figure in a black suit and he was in a hurry. Swimming along the line of boats tied to the harbor, and going under as often as possible, Syrus proceeded in the general "richer" direction. As soon as he thought it might not be in the harbor, he suddenly spied it. If she was being held on the boat, she was probably tied up or locked in a room on one of the two lower decks. She probably wouldn't be near a window, but it couldn't hurt to check. As he swam up to the boat, throwing knife in belt, Syrus saw no evidence of sentries on the decks. Those amateurs did not know how to kidnap someone and get away with it.

After observing there were no submarine windows, Syrus swum around the yacht, looking at the windows, and he heard a noise. It was a soft scream, muffled by a couple inches of glass. Swimming over, he realized Marie noticed him before he had noticed her. She was at a half crouch, looking out a window about a foot in diameter with tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her like this before. They had to take turns pressing their ears against the glass to speak. He let her go first.

"How were you able to find me? Can you break the window?"

"Baby, I can't generate much force in the water. I trust it's not one of those that open from your end. "

"Of course I've tried that; I've tried breaking it myself in every way I can imagine."

"Have you tried breaking the wall around it? Generally yachts have to be pretty light to turn a profit when they're this luxurious." She looked at him stupidly, but he couldn't blame her. It was pretty hard to guess, he had only just thought it up himself.

"You're the smartest person I've ever met. Do you have a knife or something?"

"Yeah, I do. I suspected something like this might come up." That was a lie, but he couldn't help it. She believed him completely. There was probably a real date and a kiss in the books for him. Without hesitation, he took the knife from his belt and stabbed the side of the boat next to the window. He hadn't expected it to go through. There was something strange about the knife. When he made a big enough slit, Syrus pushed the knife through.

"Keep this for when we break you out of here. I can't stay much longer, I look suspicious. We can't be sure there aren't other people who've been kidnapped, and if they notice you're missing they'll leave immediately. I'll go for police back up."

"Why can't we just leave now? We can even put the window back in and leave a dummy and-

"They promised you alive in the ransom note. They're going to be giving you meals and making sure you eat them."

"When can we leave?"

"There's only one time I know they'll all be gone and that's midnight. I have plenty of time. You're welcome to cut out the window the rest of the way, but make sure to push some of the furniture in front of it. Until then, I have to say goodbye." Syrus swam away. He had to find a patrol officer if he wanted one out of earshot of the phone bugs and felt like getting away with the trashed room. He'd be back, though. He promised himself that.

The police officer checked his watch. It was ten minutes to midnight, and a youth that resembled Syrus was waiting by the pond with a suspicious paper bag next to him. The officer was lying on the ground, completely unseen in the dark. He did not know why Syrus wasn't here himself, but the boy said he didn't want to get caught in a firefight if there was one. He wondered what the real Syrus was doing, and guessed he was waiting at the station. The officer felt a sudden sharp pain in his side. A man standing behind him had stabbed him with what he thought was a machete. The cop already had his weapon out when he turned to fire upon his attacker. A boot knocked his skull back and another man picked up the gun and pointed it down at the patrol officer in all black.

"Boy!" said a woman behind the two men, addressing the Syrus lookalike. Jacobson looked up, and asked if they were there for the ransom. A good actor, thought the injured cop. He'd have to keep it up if either of them wanted to leave alive. He knew the boy had memorized the letter, but would it be enough? Perhaps the boy should have toured the hotel room. But there was no time for that now.

"You called the cops on us. It looks like we can just turn around and get in the boat for Ghana."

"He was probably about to arrest me on suspicions persons charges! What were you thinking, having me wait in the jungle near a pond like I tossed in the body or something?

"We didn't expect you to wait here so damned long, boy."

"All that matters to me is Marie Descartes! I don't care how many cops you kill or how much it costs. Now we agreed on midnight. You can tell me where she is, or the money goes in the pool."

"She's on our boat, and not going anywhere until you hand over the bag."

"Do you have the keys to your boat with you?"

"I get it, I get it. Here, catch. The woman with whom he was speaking threw keys in his direction. Jacobson caught them without moving but one arm. The wounded patroller made a mental note to tell the boy how talented he was.

"I thought there were five of you."

"Well, there were, but one of us died when we tried to kidnap your girlfriend. The other one is waiting by the boat."

"Get in the car. We're taking the cop to the hospital, and then we go to the marina. You two can carry him. I'm driving." They progressed to the road as carefully and by extension slowly as possible. Syrus had personally told the actor he planned to infiltrate the boat himself and save Marie and anyone else who might be on the boat. He had to stall as long as possible. The two men shrugged and carried the cop to the car the three of them had driven out. Lucky there was room for exactly five. Jacobson gripped the wheel with sweaty hands. If he took the longest possible route, the cop would die from exsanguination. The shortest possible route would take ten minutes. Syrus was good, but he'd need more time than that.

So your girlfriend's name is Descartes. She looked French enough, what's your name? Jacobson didn't remember Syrus telling him that the kidnappers knew his name. It didn't sound like a test.

"My first name's Jacobson. That's what she calls me. The last name is Syrus, she might have mentioned it." Jacobson was used to responding to his last name; he might as well tell the kidnappers that he wanted to be called that.

"She… might have… But I don't remember it. Do either of you remember what she called her lover?" She turned back to the man in the seat right behind her. This man had seen him, the real Syrus. Things were suddenly looking terrible.

"Jacobson Syrus." called a voice from the back seat behind the woman. If they did remember, they didn't care. Jacobson shot up a prayer of gratitude _Dear God; I now know why you invented the sin of sloth. Thank you._ The route to the hospital was full of questions. Perhaps the woman was suspicious. Maybe now that she was so close, and they had to inject Syrus full of anesthetic in his sleep, she was starting to notice the differences between the two. Jacobson passed 90% of the questions. He didn't remember the address of the hotel, so he just told her he didn't care, turned on the radio, and let Bruce Springsteen's _Dancing in the Dark _do the talking until the quizzical expression on the female kidnapper's face turned into one of boredom. Upon arrival at the hospital, Jacobson ordered the two men to carry the now very near death police officer inside. The man directly behind him disagreed.

"She's unarmed. You look about fifteen or sixteen. No offense, but you could kill her or throw her out of the car and drive away with the cash." The man took out what he and the cop initially thought was a machete. It was a red-orange short sword with rounded edges coming to a point with a shallow fuller in the middle. It oddly reminded Jacobson of a leaf.

"Okay, then you will stay in the car and we let them carry him inside. Bring the receptionist outside as proof; we're not leaving until you do." The man and woman shrugged and walked into the hospital carrying the cop between them. Jacobson turned to the man with the sword. And informed him there was no reason to wait for them. After thinking on this a moment, he agreed and they drove away. Taking as long as possible, he drove to the harbor, still thinking about the sword.

About an hour earlier, the real Syrus returned to the docks. There would be no sneaking around this time, he was sure the boat was empty. Syrus effortlessly punched through the glass on the door, reached around and unlocked the door. Additionally, nothing was going to get in his way. He was going to save Marie and go home. He wouldn't just go back to Carthage; he'd go all the way home for Marie to meet the parents. He went down the stairs to the lower decks, and checked the rooms there. Fortunately, he'd been wrong. There were no other prisoners, just the white girl who was obviously an American. He thought he'd heard someone behind him, but he dismissed it. Marie and he were probably the only ones on the boat. He kicked down Marie's door and strode into the room, looking his best in his usual black suit. He saw Marie, she ran to him and they collided with a force of two opposite magnets held just apart and finally released. He wrapped his arms loosely around her and they kissed with tears streaming down her face. Syrus refused to cry this time. But the expression on her face immediately shifted from relief and excitement to a paralyzing fear. Was there something behind him? Syrus made a half turn to almost see a crowbar hit him on the back of his head. As Syrus fell, he slowly dragged down Marie before she got away. The hardest part was getting him to let go. Another blow fixed that.

It was up to her now. The police were stalling, Syrus had opened the doors and there were no other captives on the boat. Marie got out from Syrus's death grip and backed up as the female assailant swung at her. She'd managed to kill one of them before, half by accident, half luck. When the attacker swung the fourth time, Descartes was conveniently in front of a wooden wardrobe. She ducked, the crowbar was imbedded in the wood, and she stood with the throwing knife, and stabbed her boyfriend's assassin in the right arm. This was unforgiveable. But she would be more valuable alive, if she was going to get Syrus off the boat. Marie did not let the knife go all the way through her; merely cut hard enough to prevent her from fighting. But she had underestimated the attacked. Screaming like a cornered animal, the kidnapper kneed Marie in the abdomen with as much possible force. She doubled over and could only watch as the kidnapper dragged Syrus out of the room. It did not take Marie more than ten minutes to regain her ability to move. She walked out of the room with her usable arm. If the kidnapper wanted to throw off Syrus, she'd have to go topside. Marie moved up the stairs as quickly as she could.

Syrus woke. This was it, he'd been attacked from behind, in front of his girlfriend and he was simply not putting up with this at this point. He grabbed on to the arm that was dragging him downstairs and pulled on it as hard as he could. Not expecting this, the woman nearly fell over. He stood and saw she had an arm nearly missing, but as Marie was nowhere to be found, it was clear this woman was the overall victor. Still holding onto her arm, Syrus clenched his fingers and broke the bones in her forearm. Nothing serious, but he didn't have time for her. He would probably need a first aid kit for Marie, and those were below deck. Thinking her still passed out in her room, he ran down the stairs.

The black van pulled up to the dock as Marie was almost on the top deck. Jacobson got out of the car, and the man with the sword followed him along the dock. There was the slight complication of there being someone on watch duty about whom Syrus did not know, but Jacobson was sure, that if he didn't see her with Syrus's body outside, it went well. At this point, it was probable that Syrus and his girlfriend only had to escape. Marie was now able to run again, her blood was flowing and the pain was going away. She ran up to the edge of the top deck and saw Jacobson and the man with the sword as they were close to the door and about to enter the boat. The swordsman looked up and shouted to Marie.

"You're still supposed to be locked up!"

"Syrus, run! I can still swim!" At that fateful moment Jacobson felt like the stupidest person in the world. He hadn't counted that the two of them would be out of the room but not out of the boat. The man standing next to him slashed at his abdomen and pushed him off the dock, announcing that he smelled like a cop from the beginning. The swordsman boarded the ship after taking a spare key from around his neck. From the broken window, it was clear that the real Syrus was on the boat, probably unarmed. He also figured the bag was a fake, because people who called the cops and professional actors were not prepared to pay for loved ones back. The navigation room was topside, it was time to set sail before more cops showed up. He could always come back for the other two. When he encountered the girl topside, her simply pushed her over and told her that he was grateful for pointing out a cop. For one moment of which she was not proud, Marie was grateful it was not Syrus. She was then addressed with a sword pointed at her while he motioned for her knife, which she surrendered, and he threw off the boat.

"Where's your real boyfriend?"

"One of your girlfriends knocked him out; I thought she'd throw him off the boat."

"And risk his being seen? We filed his death certificate already." He kicked her in the head; she did not faint, but attempted to staunch the bleeding. He left for the controls.

A man and a woman on the dock next to an ambulance were looking terrified when they "discovered Syrus" in the water as the paramedics were pulling his body out. It all made sense to the dying Jacobson being pulled onto a stretcher. The two kidnappers who realized there was no ride for them got in an ambulance so they could go through red lights and catch up to him and the man with the sword. The only reason they would be able to get one to come was to say that there was someone at the marina who needed medical attention, and now that they'd seen him, they were going to get away with it brilliantly. Jacobson reached up at the face of a nurse helping him on the stretcher to the ambulance, but when he only coughed up blood because the man with the sword had stabbed him in the lung so he wouldn't be able to explain anything. The boat left with four people on it.

Syrus failed to find medical supplies below deck, but what he did find was a helmet and a scabbard. He donned these out of lack of a better idea for armor, as the boat had taken off; there was obviously someone else on the boat he may have to fight. Upon returning to the holding room, he noticed Marie had gotten up. She was probably looking for him. He picked a crowbar from a wooden dresser and proceeded to the top deck. The navigator was probably driving the boat right now, so his top priority was finding Marie. But the swordsman found him climbing the narrow stairs and unhooked the top of the stairs from the upper deck.

"I see you've found the Legion helmet, Syrus. I have the sword, and I love it. It lets me plan easily, predict the next move in a sense, create problems for my enemies. You'll never be Legion's sidekick without it, even if he hadn't been destroyed by the Green Lantern. The last little Carthaginian, that's you. I'd call it some kind of poetic fallacy; you just want Carthage to die with honor, and you live your life fighting as much as possible, because you won't go down any other way.

"I don't want to be a super villain's sidekick, and I'm not a Carthaginian or a Roman. I'm an American." The swordsman laughed and turned away. Syrus was angry enough to throw a crowbar at his head. When reality struck him, a crowbar struck soon after. Marie showed up topside by the stairwell. A look of admiration played across her face. Syrus and she had plans for the future, and they were going to go home together, start a family after finishing school, earn their little niche in the world and be happy.

"Get the sword. We're leaving and never coming back."

"But you can't get back up, and he threw the knife off the edge"

"Did you finish the circle?"

"No."

"Then that's why we need the sword. Come on, we're at least two thousand feet out, you need to take the keys out; neither of us can drive a boat."

"I did when I heard the two of you start talking." Without further ado, she shifted to the floor, with her head bleeding and abdomen giving her pain, Syrus lowered her and they helped one another walk to the lower decks then to the wall. Syrus slashed at the wall, not without effort and made a sizable hole in six minutes, and put the sword in its scabbard. They lowered themselves into the water and began to swim to shore. Syrus suggested exchanging stories and let her go first again.

"Syrus that's terrible. Just because you come from Tunisia and can respect your roots, and study history, doesn't mean your ancestors are trying to live through you or something. And why are you wearing that helmet, which somehow matches the blade?"

"I thought I might have to fight. I think I'm going to keep it too, just as a souvenir or something." They were about four hundred yards from the docks when Syrus realized how heavy she was and how little energy he had left. He'd come a long way, but he was definitely tiring. But mostly he had to hide it from Marie. She was still partially winded, losing blood, not a strong swimmer and in serious pain. She would not want to see him in pain. He didn't want to delude himself. Maybe he'd make it another four hundred feet like this. Marie had a worried expression. Keep her talking, Syrus.

"I heard this little piece from an unfinished poem that's supposed to be the prime example of poetic fallacy. I'll tell you about it when we get to shore."

"What's the poem called?" Marie could hardly believe they were talking about something like this at a time like this. Syrus was drawing ragged breaths.

"_The Christabel_ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge is an unfinished lyrical ballad about a girl who is kidnapped and they announce her rescue, but the story ends before they can carry it out." He made it. 400 feet and he hadn't dropped her. Now what was he going to do?

"Syrus, I think I can swim a little while on my own. Let me go, we can make it if you don't run yourself to the seabed like this." He released her, and she swam alongside him. They didn't say a word until they were a football field from shore.

"I can't do it anymore. I love you, Syrus." He put his arm around her. Maybe they didn't have to make it all the way. Maybe someone would see them first, and they'd be rescued, dragged onto a boat and pass out holding hands. That would surely be something to the other people there, whether they fully understood or not.

"It's taken me this long to realize how much, I don't know whether I've just been in shock, or what. I think the first time I knew this was the moment before I saw you out that window and I thought I was never going to see you again. I childishly wanted to leave immediately, but you told me it was better to wait and play the victim. Think of all the other people on the boat."

"You mean all the other people that might have been on the boat." Syrus didn't know why he told her this. There was nothing to be gained from doing so. She looked at him with complete admiration. She probably thought he was a river god or something, the impression he'd been giving her.

"You're the most honest person I've ever met. You could have just gone along with it easily; there'd be no way I could know. What counts is that you didn't just leave and turn a blind eye." He had two hundred feet left to go and he couldn't lift her anymore. He didn't see any boats. She was thinking the same thing.

"This isn't going to go down like the end of _Titanic_, because I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me. It can't be done, Syrus, no one can swim this far carrying someone. You can make it to the shore alone; I know you can, please let me go.

"No, I swear I can hear a ship coming, we can leave together, I'll drop this stuff, please don't die, Marie, I love you; this is all my fault-"With her last ounce of strength he later suspected she knew she would need to save, she wrested herself free from his slackening hold and sank before he could grab her back.

"Remarry-"and Marie sank too far to be seen and died.

Syrus swam to shore alone. He said nothing for the next few days besides "Flee my sight or I gut you" when a man on the dock tried to throw a blanket over him when he dragged himself onto a dock at the marina. Syrus had now fully realized himself. The man with the sword was right, even if he didn't like it. One lonely night back in the states several weeks later he gave himself this speech:

"I am a true Carthaginian. I shall no longer deal with law enforcement when it does not suit me. I want nothing but to build a vast Legion, no, a Squadron and to crush my enemies. I shall seek out and intentionally become involved with other super villains, if that's what I am now. I'll never forget the girl I met at the pool, and I'm going to do everything she ever wanted us to do. Except one request she had for me. I could never do that to her. I have decided to call myself Squadron.

The security guard in the Star city morgue looked over the bodies he was required to guard. What was anyone going to do, steal them? All six were given to the hospital by an anonymous donor who confessed to all of their murders and left, after hitting a security guard who tried to stop him. The only lead they had on him was a note left on the body of the white girl who had been drowned, with the three African men and two African women being stabbed with a sword, whether or not they were already dead. The note read:

You asked for the poem about which I told you. It's just a short segment that doesn't mean anything except an example of poetic fallacy, and it's relevant now, I guess. Thanks for everything you taught me. I'll never forget you.

"…_the one red leaf, last of its clan, /That dances as often as dance it can"_


End file.
